


Eleven Considerations

by Bluebutterflydays



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Death, F/M, Renewal, Violence, bog queen, butterflybog baby, dark forest customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebutterflydays/pseuds/Bluebutterflydays
Summary: Marianne never considered how the crown was passed in the Dark Forest, and she certainly never considered how that might impact her life and the one she had chosen. Until she had to.





	Eleven Considerations

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is a oneshot I did a year or two back. I did it on my phone while travelling and posted to Tumblr and forgot about it for a bit...
> 
> Anyways, found it again, so here ya go!

The first time she fully considered the concept of throne succession in the Dark Forest, she was struck by the image of Bog relinquishing the former king of both his title and his life. She feared the primal and vicious reality in herself as much as she saw it in Bog. Because she really did not mind so much that he had taken a life, not when there was so much at stake.

The second time she considered the tradition, she was bombarded by sadness that, no matter how strong or apt he was, Bog would one day grow too old to defend the throne. He would be taken from her in the name of power. 

The third time she considered the eventuality, she fought Bog over him conceding the throne willingly to stay with her. Never since she had first fought him to retrieve her sister had she gone after him so ferociously. He would not back down, blocking every hard yet clumsy blow backed by the rage and sadness of a fairy that felt she was being abandoned.

The fourth time she considered their doom, she was crowned queen of the Dark Forest, hard and determined in her awareness that as she bonded her life to Bog’s in blood and lust, so was she binding her fate to his own. 

The fifth time she considered their end, she was afraid once more. Unwilling to face this fate as the castle was stormed and a mighty, armored Goblin demanded satisfaction in the name of his own people. It was too soon and the child in her womb too innocent to face such a judgment. 

The Goblin was properly dispatched, but the fear in her family remained stark and stung like briar snagging at each movement. Marianne was sent to the Fairy Kingdom and, for a short time, Bog stayed with her there in peace and light until his duty called too loud to ignore. Marianne was to stay until the end of her pregnancy.

The sixth time she considered the unfairness of it all, she was collapsed on the ground, clutching her swollen belly prematurely contracting as a result of her hysterical sobs. Bog was killed, ambushed as he made his way back to the Fairy Kingdom to see her. The brother of the previous Goblin claimed the victory for his brethren. Marianne was left a widow and their child would be born fatherless. 

The seventh time she considered Goblin cruelty, she was staring at the smug face of the one that murdered her husband, her mind ablaze as her sister perched to sign a peace treaty, her duty as the rightful queen of their Kingdom when Marianne married. The Dark Forest wanted to maintain peace. Who were they to refuse it. After all, the killing of Bog was all a matter of custom. It was their duty to respect it. To work with it.

But the fires of rage still burned deep within Marianne. She could not separate politics and duty from her heartbreak. Not when she still lay crying every night clutching to a half-fairy daughter never to know how wonderful her father was.

Peace be damned, she drew her sword, stood atop the table and with one rapid and forceful swing across his throat, spilt the first blood ever to touch the Fairy council. The ensuing screams remained in her mind thereafter, locking into place just what she had become and where she belonged. 

The eighth time she considered the duty of Goblin royalty, she was tossing the head of the former, albeit briefly appointed, king into the raging bonfire of a crowning ritual. She herself fitted the thorny thing atop her head, her body clad in charred leaves and moss, her face streaked with charcoal. The fire made her eyes glow red and her hands were stained in congealing blood as she raised Bog’s(because it would truly always be his) staff high above her head and shrieked at the top of her lungs “I AM THE BOG QUEEN! AND SO SHALL THIS CROWN BE MINE UNTIL ONE OF YOU BASTARDS PRIES IT FROM MY MUTILATED CORPSE”.

This was her home now, this was where she belonged. With the rest of the dangerous beasts. They could strip her of this right at any time and, so long as they were strong enough, she would not fault them. She was ready to die, she would welcome a warrior’s death. That was what would make her such a fitting ruler for their lands.

The last time she considered the fact that the throne of the Dark Forest went to the most vicious, she was watching the mix of emotions play across her teenage daughter’s face as she explained the custom and the series of events which landed her mother in the throne. She gave her growing daughter the choice to either stay and face this fate or choose to live in the Fairy Kingdom, treated as royalty.

Marianne wondered if this tradition would strip her of everyone she loved and cared for. She wanted her daughter’s safety and happiness, as problematic as her existence as a half-fairy, half-goblin had already proven to be toward that end. Yet, she feared being left alone, she feared the woman she may become without a single loved one by her side.

Her daughter stayed, though. And Marianne felt pride and fear at the life ahead for her flesh and blood. 

She sat, each day, atop the throne, Bog’s staff gripped tight in her tiny hands and she waited. She waited for a challenge, she waited for a battle, she waited for her fate. She would think no longer on it, for it was her waking reality, her acceptance. The lust for blood steady, she trained her only child in it. 

The idea was that, when the time came, the princess could fight her way out and escape to the fields. She could live.

And yet, the time never came. The Bog Queen Marianne died as peacefully as possible for her restless heart. She passed on in her sleep, old and grey, scarred from years of bravery and ferocity. Her daughter found her and held her and cried for only a moment. 

Because there was a crown and there was a duty. There was a custom to adhere to… 

 

The first time that perfect union of the worlds of Goblin and Fairy took into consideration the traditions of the throne, she decided it was now her birthright. It was her duty to claim it. 

She burnt her mother’s body delicately on a pire, but the fires raged deep into the night. She wore not black, but the green of the fields so all would see she would not bow to their methods and traditions.

Her show of force and demand for adherence still came, however, when she lifted her father’s staff high above her crowned head and roared out her mother’s infamous proclamation. 

“I am the Bog Queen!” 

But she paused, a light of hope sparkling in her crystal blue eyes, and then added, “Under my reign, this Kingdom shall be born anew!” 

And for the first time, the Forest considered their traditions under the light of a clear full moon sky and felt that maybe there was a better way.


End file.
